


YOU ARE MY SUNSET

by orphan_account



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: M/M, Pidge is a little shit, confident keith, fuck is used a couple times, lance's van, recovery post-accident
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2019-06-09 12:41:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15267708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "Summer has just begun to let out its first stuttering exhales of life. Everything feels a little hotter, heat becoming a second skin clinging to all. The sun kisses the world goodbye at later times, fiery red and hot orange dancing across the horizon and then disappearing.It makes Shiro feel like always melting."[ALTERNATELY: Shiro may have lost his arm, but he gains something the moment he meets Keith Kogane.]





	YOU ARE MY SUNSET

**Author's Note:**

> the sky is so red that it dazzles  
> you always shine even more at this time  
> \- kim donghan, sunset

Shiro’s life is fucked up. He only manages to sleep a few fitful hours once in a while, and he says sleep and not rest because you really can’t call his non-waking hours rest.

 

He eats crappy one-minute ramen more often than he probably should and spends too much time shut off from the outside world. The university has been allowing him to take online alternative courses due to his circumstances for the past few months and probably will allow him to for the rest of the school year. He ends up doing assignments at three in the morning on six cups of straight black coffee because even if it leaves the worst taste in his mouth and the old him hated black coffee, he knows the old Shiro is dead. He died months ago and the present Shiro is only overflowing with self-loathing and hate.

 

He swallows another cup of bitterness.

 

It’s Thursday night, 11:48 PM, according to his phone. It’s flooded with unanswered notifications, neglected like everything else in his life. He’s just woken up from a four hour nap and feels nauseous. He rolls over in bed and stares at his ceiling fan, slowly spinning around and around.

 

He’s lost.

 

* * *

 

 

The first two months post-accident are spent in a hospital, being carefully monitored at all hours.

 

After two months, the doctor says he’s nearly miraculously recovered. Dr. Sawyer says he’s a lucky patient. Shiro can go home.

 

He’s discharged.

 

Shiro doesn’t feel very lucky. He doesn’t feel lucky when he gets home, unlocking his apartment and hearing his keys jangle loudly in the empty spaces. It’s no home. He looks over to his right side, where his arm used to be. Something more than a body part is missing. He slides down the front door and cries for hours until he can cry no more.

 

* * *

 

Shiro leaves his house for the first time in three months the next week. He’s going to see a therapist. He’s exhausted of the hollow look he sees in the mirror every single time he uses the restroom. He’s going to get better.

 

* * *

 

Shiro gnaws nervously on his lower lip. It’s been a few weeks since he began seeing his therapist. He’s making slow but sure progress. He went grocery shopping the other day. He renewed his gym membership. He has started wearing clean clothes. It’s time to make amends with his friends. He clicks through countless snapchats his friends have sent him. There are pictures of mundane things with captions asking after him and his throat constricts. His emotions feel too big to fit under his skin.

 

It isn’t til a few weeks later that he gains the courage to text his best friend.

 

His phone pings immediately.

 

_**From Lance [10:38 PM]** : oh my god hi i missed you_

 

_**From Lance [10:39 PM]** : do you need me to come over? _

 

_**To Lance [10:40 PM]** : please _

 

_**From Lance [10:40 PM]** : I’m on my way _

 

Shiro breathes a sigh of relief.

 

When Lance makes it over in record time, he gasps and scorns Shiro gently, “You better be ready to stay up all night, _mijo_ , because this apartment’s state is unacceptable, I tell you.” Lance smiles at Shiro gently. “Don’t worry, Shiro. You’re not alone." Another glance around the apartment and he says, "Now, where’s your laundry basket? It's time to get to work.”

 

Shiro stares at Lance’s open and kind expression.

 

He missed him so much.

 

Maybe things will be okay after all.

 

* * *

 

Shiro is happy sometimes. He is happy when he receives his cutting-edge, fully-functioning prosthetic arm from a high-tech company giving them out to few people in need. He starts feeling more complete again.

 

He starts going out with his friends again.

 

They welcome him back with tentative smiles and open arms.

 

He is loved.

 

* * *

 

Shiro recognizes something pure and novel blooming in his chest.

 

 

* * *

 

The day Shiro encounters Keith Kogane is one that will be imprinted in his memory forever. 

 

In Shiro’s admittedly disastrous existence, the year he meets Keith Kogane marks a burst of color and life in the otherwise relatively gray and gloomy timeline.

  


It has been nearly a year since his accident and just a few months since his high-tech prosthetic became an ever-present extension of himself, a new puzzle piece to the scrambled jigsaw puzzle Takashi Shirogane is.

 

He still suffers of nightmares, he still spaces out and has bad days, but there are people he knows are willing to help him. He is doing so much better and he’s feeling much more confident. He feels he’s regained control of his life. He feels stronger.

 

Now, he’s impatiently waiting for Lance to finish fiddling with his outfit in the back of his kinda crappy-“ _BUT PERFECTLY FUNCTIONING, I’LL HAVE YOU KNOW, SIR!_ ”-van.  Of course, Lance has the worst-most-pathetically-concealed crush the size of Jupiter on one of the many beautiful people in their friend circle and spends every waking moment trying to woo her (“It’s bound to be one of these days, Shiro! She’ll wake up and look me in the eyes and realize what beautiful babies we’d make!”). Allura works as a bartender in this particular bar which is a primary reason they frequent it so often. She is a stunning, strong-willed woman with a soul of fire and heart of diamond. Lance is only irrevocably in love with her.

 

Annoyed (and maybe slightly bitter at his cheery and lively friend for dragging him out and then making him _wait)_ , he detaches his arm, sliding it out of his jacket sleeve. Then with his functioning hand, he begins to make it stick up the middle finger, fully intending to smack Lance with it once he finally exits the van. He feels excited to even be able to smack his friend. He’s learned to appreciate the time spent with Lance, no matter what happens.

 

Unfortunately, his process is interrupted by the sound of a motorbike engine cutting off. Shiro will recognize the life of a motorbike forever. Turning and squinting, he sees the bike and its driver coming to a stop next to Lance’s obnoxious (“ _Lance_ ,” Pidge had said, “why would you give your tin can of death a puke-green paint job? Under no circumstances is it attractive. _None_...”) van.

 

When the figure on the bike slides off and bows their head, removing their helmet, a boy with long dark hair is revealed. The sunset casts a halo of deep red on it.  Shiro can make out glittering inky eyes and a pretty face bathed in orange hues by the sunset as well.

 

Summer has just begun to let out its first stuttering exhales of life. Everything feels a little hotter, heat becoming a second skin clinging to all. The sun kisses the world goodbye at later times, fiery red and hot orange dancing across the horizon and then disappearing.

 

It makes Shiro feel like always melting.

 

A similar feeling blossoms in his chest at the sight of the stranger. He feels as if he’s soaring over a wide open sea, the smell of salt and water welcoming him. Not knowing how to react, he can only watch, mouth wide enough to catch flies, as the man saunters slowly towards him. He is donning black skinny jeans with tears that show off just enough to make a burning curiosity settle in the pit of Shiro’s stomach, a tight-fitting white tee, and a deep red jacket that barely grazes his ribs. He blinks slowly at Shiro, tilting his head to the side, exposing some of his neck, seemingly taking him in. Shiro is suddenly filled with a strange urge to brush the stray hairs away and settle his hand comfortably on the bare skin.

 

“You’re staring,” are the first words to leave the stunning man’s mouth which has quirked up in amusement.

 

Shiro’s cheeks fill with a deep red as he quickly shuts his mouth, trying to regain his bearings at being obvious enough to be blatantly called out.

 

Before he has the opportunity to even attempt to save himself, the other man speaks again, parting his lips and leaning in to Shiro’s spot on the wall he’s reclining against, “Is that middle finger you’re waving meant for me? Because if it is, you’re awfully forward.” The attractive man looks down in feigned abashedness. “I’m a fine lad, I enjoy being wined and dined before getting handsy, if you know what I mean.” There’s a laugh and then he extends his hand. His eyes glitter. “Keith Kogane.”

 

“Takashi Shirogane, call me Shiro,” is the breathless response Shiro manages to squeeze out. His mind is in overdrive, his thoughts burning and dissipating at an alarming speed at the confident and enticing man’s presence.

 

Keith coyly looks at him beneath alluring eyelashes and says, “But for a fine man like you, I could just make an exception.”

 

And no, no Shiro panics because he is very _genuinely_  considering this option, visualizing many different scenarios in which he goes back home with a handsome stranger and they fuck (he’s getting heart palpitations thinking just _hypothetically_ ) but none of them are able to start on the right foot. He got here in Lance’s puke van, and he will _not_  be able to ride on Keith’s motorbike (losing an arm to an accident involving one makes the thought of riding again an uneasy one, he’s experiencing trauma to say the least), and in general he’s sure his friends would have his head for skipping alcohol bonding day for a fuck with an admittedly _really fucking way-out-of-his-armless-self-league_ hot guy.

 

Before his train of thought can blast and wreck through all of his rationality at full-speed, Shiro hears a loud bang then a groan of pain. Glancing over, both men see Lance stumbling out of his godforsaken van (Lance claimed hosing his van down counted as a baptism, and it was very much NOT godforsaken, thank you very much) clutching his head, hissing painfully.

 

“ _Shiro_ ,” he moans out, “my van is trying to murder me! Kill me! End me! I can’t believe she’s betrayed me like this! I thought I could trust--HEY, KOGANE, so you _did_  decide to show up.” Lance surveys the way he’s hovering over Shiro and the dumbfounded gaze the latter is sporting. He furrows his eyebrows and clicks his tongue in distaste. “You’re so greasy, I can’t believe I invite you out for drinks with _my_  friends and you _immediately_  go after my poor, defenseless best man-child friend.” Lance pouts, crossing his arms over his chest while Shiro’s brain struggles to reboot and process his words.

 

“Your _WHAT?”_ Shiro looks over at his best friend in disbelief. He can’t believe him sometimes.

 

“Oh, you’re friends with McClain, Shiro?” Keith asks, pulling back slightly but continuing to bore into him with his inquisitive seemingly endless eyes.

 

“Yes?” Shiro replies, sounding as if it’s more of a question than a declaration.

 

He hears Lance huff indignantly, “Fuck you, I’ll have you know Shiro and I are,” he yanks him away from Keith’s stare, “best buddies and we’re going to have a FUN amicable night of drinking. Now, let’s not keep our friends waiting! Time to get fucking _smashed!”_ Lance runs off and Keith and Shiro lose sight of him as he cuts around a corner, yelling about his hair being ruined.

 

Keith huffs out a laugh and it has no right to sound that inviting. Shiro frowns.

 

“C’mon, pretty boy,” Keith teases, “put your arm back on and let’s rumble.” Shiro blushes once more, remembering that his arm is still in an unfriendly position, before reattaching it under the other’s watchful gaze.

 

Keith pulls at his left arm and purrs in his ear, “Sometimes I’ll feel bold and wear nothing under this jacket. Should have tonight, honestly, given you something real good to stare at.” Shiro’s mouth runs dry at his comment and Keith takes the opportunity to slide his fingers down Shiro’s arm and intertwine their fingers. Shiro thinks his hands were crafted for the sole purpose of holding Keith’s. Why else would they slot together so perfectly? Keith tugs gently once, and they begin to walk into the bar together.

 

A playful smile plays at Keith’s lips the entire time.

 

* * *

 

At the end of the night, Lance calls a taxi, saying he’ll pick up his “precious murderous” van tomorrow morning when he visits Allura again. It’s nearing midnight and Lance is a clingy emotional drunk. Shiro’s not more than tipsy, only having drank a few beers over the course of several hours, and he’s entirely too sober to be dealing with Lance like this. He’ll crash at Lance’s place, Lance will implore him with puppy eyes and a wobbling lip to cuddle with him in his bed, and then Lance will proceed to knock out nearly an hour later after having his usual emotional alcohol-induced cry.

 

Shiro rests his head against the cool cab window, exhaling softly as he tunes Lance’s nonsensical gibberish out. He thinks back to Keith and his soft smile, thinks of his hands wrapped around a simple beer bottle, of his slightly dry humor. Keith got along well with their friend circle. He fit in perfectly. It’s not hard for Shiro to envision a future with Keith involved. He’s only drawn back to the present when he hears a sniffle. Lance is rubbing his wet eyes with his hand.

 

“Shiro, I love you, ‘nd ‘m so sorry you lost your arm. ‘M sorry.” Lance bursts into a fit of tears, and the taxi cab driver looks very undisturbed, surely having seen worse inside this cab.

 

Shiro glances over at Lance in surprise. “Hey, it’s okay, Lance. I’ll be okay.” He pulls his close friend into his arms and begins petting his hair like he usually does. He thinks back to the dark gaze Keith kept laying on him all night and the other man’s slender fingers and the smooth skin that shone under the bar lights through the rips in his jeans and his quiet laughter. His heartbeat settles into a content steady beat, and Lance’s sobs eventually subside into quiet hiccups. Shiro looks out of the cab window, watching the city’s nightlife thrive. As the cab continues to roll, he catches glimpses of flashing club lights, brightly lit liquor stores, and groups of friends stumbling about, hollering and hooting like the world is at their fingertips. For the first time in a while, Shiro finally feels those words carry a solid weight behind them.

 

* * *

 

Summer begins to melt and everything is hot and sticky, full of laughter and ice cream. Lance’s van turns hot pink (Allura laughs at the choice and leaves her red lipstick on Lance’s skin when she leans over to kiss his cheek), and Pidge complains about the new color and how her thighs sweat through the Mystery Machine’s (“It’s an honorable tribute to Scooby Doo, Pidge.” “ _No,_  it’s not, Lance-”) seats. Matt Holt spends his time laughing in the backseat braiding Hunk’s hair.

 

Shiro and Keith devour an entire watermelon before even arriving at the beach.

 

(“ _Guys_! That was an _ENTIRE_  watermelon!”)

 

Fall brings classes and coffee outings. Pidge thrives, stepping on fallen leaves beneath her feet just to hear them crunch. Hunk bakes cookies for everyone. Allura buys Lance a bouquet of beautiful flowers and he faints. Keith rushes to his side and slaps him to consciousness.

 

Shiro laughs louder than ever before and grins as Pidge records the entire thing.

 

Countless more seasons pass.

 

Shiro spends all of them creating unforgettable memories with Keith.

 

* * *

 

Now, Shiro looks over at Keith whose eyelids are shut tightly. His nose scrunches up at intervals and he’s deeply asleep, busy hogging all of Shiro’s sheets. He’s curled up into a tiny ball at the far end of the bed near their cat.

 

Shiro has come a long way from all those years ago. His life has slotted itself together nicely, more and more puzzle pieces having fallen into place. He’s proud of himself. Shiro slowly sips from his cup of coffee and observes Keith as he rests.

 

The silver of his wedding band glints in the early sunrise.

 

He gets to live the rest of his life making more unforgettable memories with his husband.

 

Shiro is lucky.

**Author's Note:**

> hello, i'm not sure what this was but i hope you enjoyed it nonetheless xx


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